Dreams and Reality
by White-Tigers-of-Darkness
Summary: A fire, a sudden death and the Forger known as Eames ceased to exist. Instead, there is just Bane, Revenge and the city of Gotham ...and a young detective called John Blake, who looks exactly like a dead Point Man. Fill for TDKR Anonymous Meme.
1. Chapter 1

So, after a lot of thought, I have decided to finally claim responsibility for this story. I started it as an anonymous fill for the Dark Knight Rises Kink Meme but I am kind of proud of it so far. Plus, writers block is kind of killing me at the moment. So for the next few days, I plan to polish up and post each chapter until I have gotten everything down. Then I plan to post more. Hopefully.

Prompt: _Eames and Arthur are happily together and in love, but one day, Arthur gets killed and Eames is badly injured. Everyone thinks Eames will move on and get better with time, but he doesn't. He grows angry and bitter and slowly, he starts to go by the name Bane. Bane is okay wreaking havoc and terrorizing cities, until he gets to Gotham and sees John Blake, who reminds him so much of Arthur. _

_I'd love to see this as either a mind/reality bending fic or a dark fic where Bane/Eames tries to make Blake into Arthur._

A link to the pre-polished version can be found on the third page of the fill list for the meme. I would post a link but won't let me.

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or the Dark Knight series. That belongs to the amazing Chris Nolan. But if I ever become rich, I do plan to buy Nolan.

Pairings: Arthur/Eames, Bane/Blake (Sort of), Bane/Arthur (In later chapters).

Warning: Major character death in this chapter.

* * *

_Eames had always been a romantic at heart. A slow dance in the rain, fireworks at midnight, sex on the beach kind of guy. He liked big displays of affection to go with his big personality. At the time, it had been almost funny that he had fallen for the very proper, very serious 'stick in the mud' Point Man Arthur, who hated the loud, over the top things Eames was famous for. Funny, until everyone realised how well it worked. Eames made Arthur more fun, and in return, Arthur stopped many of Eames more insane ideas. The two were polar opposites, unable to co-exist except when they did. Arthur liked to say that together, they were a paradox. Something which defied logic or reason. Eames liked to say that Arthur had him by the balls._

_But like all romantics, Eames believed in eternity, believe that they would last forever. He never thought it would end, just a year after the Inception job, after they had both finally pulled their heads out of their asses and admitted there was something. And it certainly shouldn't have ended like this, surrounded by enemies while the building burning down around them, his Point Man in his arms, unable to move as he bled to death from the three bullets lodged in his chest from the guns of the Cobol agents._

_Blinking the blood out of his own eyes, Eames gave his lover a gentle shake, trying to increase the short time Arthur still had even as he fought back the screams._

_Bloody Saito. Bloody COBB!_

_How had the bastard forgotten this? How had they struck the deal to save Cobbs worthless hide and forgotten all about Arthur?_

_Under his hands, Arthur closed his eyes._

_"Come on Arthur, no giving up on me yet." Eames ordered, trying to keep his voice soft and level, trying to hide the panic from his clever, brilliant, American Point Man._

_After a few heart stopping moments, those brown eyes opened once more, fixing on his face._

_"Not going to get out of this one Mr Eames. Not this time." Arthur observed. If it wasn't for the slight tremor of his voice, no one would have guessed that Arthur was dying._

_A wave of heat washed over the pair as around them, the walls groaned. Arthur let out a cough, blood drops slipping from the corner of his mouth. The point man took a deep breath, trying to ignore the wet sound of blood slowly filling his lungs._

_"Time to get out of here Eames." he muttered._

_"Trying to get rid of me already darling?" Eames asked as he reached for Arthurs blood covered hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze. Somewhere outside, a siren sounded. Arthur closed his eyes, his face relaxing._

_"I'm not afraid to die alone." Arthur replied, his voice growing faint. "I've done it before."_

_The scream was in Eames throat now, a cry at the unfairness of life, to give this all to him and then take it away again. Adjusting his grip, Eames pulled Arthur to his chest, cradling him like a child as he pressed his face against Arthur's hair, his arms wrapped protectively around the smaller man._

_"Well then, it's a shame I'm not leaving you." he choked out._

_He felt, rather then saw Arthur's last moment. Felt the last breath against his bare neck, felt the sudden loss of strength on Arthur's hand. For one brief moment, he thought he felt the last little bit of fight in Arthur's soul before it was gone, leaving nothing of the man behind except a damaged body._

_He heard shouts from around him, boots crashing across the ground. Firemen? Cobol? Eames didn't know, nor did he care. Arthur was gone, and with it, Eames whole world._

_There were more shouts from outside, cries of panic, sounds of retreat._

_Ignoring it all, Eames loosened his grip on the body, allowing himself room to look down at Arthur's blood and ash covered face one last time. Closing his eyes, the forger lent forward, pressing his lips against the soft skin one last time._

_The room exploded around him, welcoming Eames into the darkness._

* * *

Opening his eyes slowly, the monster known to the world as Bane looked around the gloom. Gotham's sewers were not a pleasant sight, but they were far more pleasant then the dream Bane had just had. A dream. It was only a dream.

"I was dreaming." He muttered to himself, almost amused. The noise came out as a faint whisper against his mask, the sound almost lost in the noise of the sewers.

"I didn't know you still could." Another voice said.

Bane didn't bother to look around.

"I can't." He replied, raising himself from the hard floor which had long since become his place of rest.

His second in command, Barsad, raised an eyebrow in question as his boss rose, the giant of a man reaching for his jacket and pulling it around his body.

"A memory then." The younger man concluded. Like everyone in the business, he knew what was on Bane's mind.

Barsad was seated at the small desk Bane's team had managed to set up. Silently, Bane regarded the young man.

He had been an up and coming star in the world of Extraction when Bane had first appeared on the scene, acting as both an Extractor and an Architect but with desires to go into Point. Barsad was a true Jack-of-all-trades when Bane had come knocking at his door, freshly released from the hospital and determined to create a team to take out all his anger on the world.

Bane had been heavy handed at the time, threatening to take either the man's loyalty or his life. Like any smart Extractor, Barsad had seen the writing on the wall and joined Bane, creating the beginning of the core group of loyal supporters of Bane's regime.

He had held no love for the man known as Dom Cobb either, and had willingly helped Bane's campaign of terror against the man which ended with Bane's hands wrapped around the former Extractor's neck.

He had led several of Bane's new allies against the Cobol agents and had even attempted to organise a rescue when Bane's attack against Saito had failed and both men had found themselves imprisoned in the hell hole known as the Pit.

He had willingly followed Bane when the man had first been taken in by the League of Shadows and when Ras Al Ghul had moved against Bane, had helped him retreat to a safer area. He had willingly accepted the girl into their team and helped her sent herself up as their agent in Gotham's distant upper class.

He was Banes eyes and ears on the surface world, a place where Bane was no longer welcome.

"Daggett called. He wants the finger prints of Bruce Wayne." Barsad called, writing something down on the paper before him.

"That is not our job." Bane said as he stalked closer, looking at the paper before his second in command. It was a newspaper. Barsad had circled several articles which he thought may have been of interest to his boss.

"Yes. He shouted a lot and sent for the Cat to do the job instead."

Reaching down, Bane picked up the paper and looked at the circled article.

"Good. Keep her busy until she is needed. Get dressed my friend. You had a different mission." He said, throwing down the paper.

Barsad nodded in agreement.

* * *

So there you go. And now that I have admitted this is mine, I plan to go and hide until tomorrow, where I shall return to post the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Another day, another chapter. I am really pleased with the welcoming reception the first chapter got. I only hope this next chapter is just as welcome. And that it isn't too obvious that I have never written an Inception fic before. Since I have never written an Inception fic before, I am mostly piggybacking off my practice in writing Batman fics. And since most of them are comic based, well, we shall see what happens.

* * *

John Blake hated Harvey Dent Day. Hated it with a surprising passion.

Certainly, he couldn't fault the man for all he had done for the city in his short life. Harvey Dent had turned himself into a symbol of hope, into Gotham's White Knight, cleaning the streets for the innocent and making this world safe for everyone.

Even now, the Dent Act was the driving force behind the work of Gotham PD. It helped the police look into major crimes and find the villains. The villains, who more often than not, turned out to be normal people fighting for nothing more than their basic right to survive under the corruption of the city's Upper Classes.

In Johns mind, it was one of the greatest cons the city had ever pulled.

John had been a street orphan. His whole life, he had never had the protection Dent had offered to the people. Never had the assurance of his basic rights in a world where young boys and girls could so easily fall into the hands of any criminal or psychopath who happened to stumble across them.

John had never seen the White Knight. Never felt that hope Harvey Dent had tried to offer Gotham. Had never noticed the 'changes' Dent had tried to bring about. He had, however, followed the Dark Knight.

He had seen the man, the legend. And to a young boy who had hid himself behind the mask society had thrown at him, Batman had been a hero. A symbol that things could change. That he could survive.

Unlike Dent and the rest of Gotham's high society, Batman had been the people's champion. The protector who was not afraid to throw down everything and fight in the danger filled streets he had claimed as his own.

No, John didn't believe that Dent had been the great hero everyone tried to paint him as. And he didn't believe that Batman had been the villain the media and the Commissioner had claimed he had been.

Stepping through the crowds, John made his way down the street, ignoring the tourists as they moved around, gawking at the crazy Gothamites who, for one day a year, stopped everything to celebrate the life of a single man.

Men, woman and children from all across America, from New York to Metropolis, LA to Star City were pouring into the city.

Cameras flashed around him as tourists walked by, laughing and pointing. Some of them stopped and stared at him, at the Cop who didn't have a real job thanks to Harvey Dent. John tried not to let it get to him. They didn't know of the kids who still went missing, of the people who were still victims of the evils hidden in the dark, of the poverty on the streets, the bodies in the sewers.

Scanning the crowd, John tried to distract himself from those thoughts, to do his job and protect the innocent.

There were a group of three men looking up at one of the buildings. They were dressed as tourists, cameras raised as they looked around, taking photographs of the building before them. This was not an unusual situation but for some reason, John couldn't help but stare. It was something about their body language. Something off.

Walking forward, John cleared his throat.

"Excuse me gentlemen." He called as he met the group. The three men looked away from their cameras.

"Yes officer?" One of them, a shorter, muscular man asked as he eyed the cop.

"I just wanted to ask if everything was alright." John replied. He had to be careful. Although these men had not done anything, the young cop could almost feel the hostility coming from them.

"All fine." The second one grunted, not even bothering to look up. He was the tallest of the group, red hair sticking up at strange angles as he played with the device in his hands.

John nodded. He looked up at the building.

"Then would you mind telling me why you are taking pictures of the Gotham Stock Exchange?" he asked.

This got their attention. The three glanced at each other, sharing odd looks. Finally, the third man stepped forward. He was the same height as John, with dark hair and a skinny face covered in a shaggy beard. John fought not to take a step back as the man stopped only inches from him. The man smiled, almost laughing at the cop's discomfort.

"We are architects Officer….." The man looked down at the badge on John's uniform. "…Blake. We are making a portfolio of designs for our next project."

John looked up at the building. The Stock Exchange was not what John would call a feat of architectural design. However, the young police officer didn't know the first thing about it. For all he knew, the building was the very cutting edge of the industry and these men were right to be interested. Normally, he would look it up, try to find out everything about the subject but somehow, he didn't think the men would take kindly to John calling them out on their story. Their body language said as much.

John had survived for years in Gotham by knowing when to ask questions and when it would be unwelcome or even dangerous. He could already tell that it would be foolish to try and pick a fight now.

Nodding, the cop met the mans gaze. There was something stange about the mans eyes, like a mix of recognition and disbelief.

"Fair enough. I apologise for interrupting gentlemen." John took a step back, finally looking away from the mans searching eyes. "Have a good day."

Turning his back on the men, John began to make his way back down the street towards the squad car. Behind him, unnoticed by the cop, the man raised his camera, taking a few quick photos.

"What are you doing?" The shortest man looking at the self-appointed speaker.

Barsad lowered the camera, his eyes glued to the retreating cops back.

"Let's just say, I really think the boss will want to see this."

* * *

Well, there is my second offering to the gods that are fanfiction readers. All hail the readers.


	3. Chapter 3

A little back story for Bane's second Barsad. I really liked him in the movie and thought he should have had a little more time on screen. So I have given him a back story.

Now, I know this chapter doesn't flow with the rest of the story. But I honestly couldn't think of how to make it fit, so lets just pretend it is a gift chapter and we can get back on track in the next one.

* * *

Barsad had been a young Extractor the first and only time he met the businesses power couple, Arthur and Eames. His first mentor, an Architect by the name of Bartholomew had organised a complex job for himself and his protégé, asking Arthur to run Point for him for a handsome fee so that he could relax and teach Barsad in a safer environment.

Arthur had accepted the job and joined the team, a world famous Forger right behind him like some sort of love starved puppy. Barsad had been warned beforehand not to say anything about the odd couple and a few days into the job, he could see why. Arthur and Eames seemed to communicate by fighting; Eames (Who had no job on the team and mostly sat around watching Arthur work) kept teasing the Point Man, throwing annoying pet named and sexually suggestive comments at the other man. Arthur himself responded in kind, threatening to castrate Eames in no fewer then 13 different ways by Barsads count alone. And he should know. He had taken to noting the number down in his notebook instead of listening to Bartholomew go over the plans again and again.

Still, Barsad had noted the genuine care between the two, none more so than when he had been knocked out of one of their test runs early and seen Eames sitting next the Arthurs sleeping form, holding his hand and gently running a hand through the Point Man's hair. Arthur had spent the rest of the afternoon in a grumpy mood after fixing his hair but Barsad had never forgotten the absolute love which had shown on Eames face for those quiet minutes.

So of course it had hurt to hear when Arthur had been murdered, enemies from his past catching up with the Point Man and putting his Forger in hospital.

Barsad had split from Bartholomew only weeks earlier; a job went south sending the older man into a deep depression. The young extractor had been doing his own work with a PASIV Bartholomew had gifted to him when the imposing figure called Bane had found him, hiding away in his safe house in London.

For several moments, Barsad had been in shock as the other man had stalked into the room, the top of his head and back burnt so badly he was almost unrecognisable under the bandages.

And those eyes, they were the eyes of a madman. And yet they were so familiar.

Bane (as Barsad had been ordered to call him) had grabbed the startled younger man, throwing him into a wall and leaving him dazed. And in that moment, Barsad had feared for his life.

But Bane didn't want his life. He wanted his abilities.

Understanding had dawned slowly, but it had arrived. Bane wanted retribution. Revenge against the people who had let him down. And he needed an Extractor he could trust.

Barsad, seeing nothing to lose and everything to gain, had thrown his support behind the man, helping him plan his first strike against one, Dominic Cobb. A man who had put his own happiness above the safety of his team with no thought of the dangers he put them in.

Cobb had cut all ties with his team, not even bothering to turn up to the funeral of the man who had given up several years of his own life to help Cobb get back to his family. Dom Cobb hadn't even cared that, thanks to him, Arthur had been murdered.

Barsad had to admit, he had found a savage delight helping Bane to in repeatedly forcing the selfish man into the dream state, to inflict the worst nightmares on him until the man's mind broke and Bane finally gave him mercy, breaking his neck as he screamed at his own nightmares.

But Bane hadn't been finished there. Several names had been called up, Bane bringing in several more dream workers to join the team as he plotted. Barsad didn't know why Bane harboured such hatred against these other targets, a student Architect called Ariadne, an illegal Chemist called Yusaf and a billionaire businessman called Saito.

Saito had been the next target. Bane had wanted to drag the man so far down into the dream that the businessman ended up in Limbo, trapped forever in his own mind. The plan hadn't been a success.

Despite their abilities, none of the Extractors had been able to handle themselves against fully trained mercenaries. Bane and Barsad had been captured, the rest of the team killed. Soon, both had found themselves in the Pit.

Barsad had tried to make the best of it, making friends and allies among the other inmates. But Bane hadn't done so well, refusing to speak to anyone except the small child which would sometimes crawl into his cell.

The child's mother had been fearful for her daughter's safety but grateful for her new protector. And she had been right to be.

Barsad had noted the rising tensions in the prison, knew it was only a matter of time before something broke. But he hadn't expected the insanity, the violence as the other prisoners had forced their way into the woman's cell, ignoring her screams as they turned on her and her daughter. To busy calling on his allies to help the woman, Barsad hadn't notice Bane, pushing his way through the crown and gathering up the child before any of the animals could get to her. He had only realised what had happened when the crown had surged to the wall. The girl was on the ledge, climbing for her life while below her, the prisoners lashed out at Bane, trying to punish him for taking away their toy.

The girl had disappeared even as Barsad and his friends had fought against the crown, the former Extractor grabbing at Bane and pulling him to the safety of the drugged Doctors cell. The Doctor had done his work, using an untested compound he called Venom to help Bane. Bane had survived his brush with death, but there had been side-effects.

Barsad had stayed by Bane's side, trying to help him through the endless agony. Somehow, in the time he had been in the Pit, Barsad had grown loyal to Bane.

So loyal, that Barsad hadn't seen any problem in helping Bane when the girl's father had arrived, working hard to get his friend up and mobile enough to leave the pit.

Ras Al Ghul had been a harsh man with an undeserved hatred of Bane, but he had been a good teacher and admired Barsads loyalty.

A loyalty which meant, when Ras had turned against Bane, Barsad had helped his leader to retreat from the League. He had helped Bane gather a new team, this one a mix of Extractors and Mercenaries as they continued on with Banes plan. And finally, after several years of hiding and planning, the Saito job was successful.

But then the girl found them. Barsad supposed he should have guessed it. Bane was loyal to the girl, and Barsad was loyal to Bane. It was inevitable that her plan would become Banes and Banes plan would become his.

They moved to Gotham, gathering pieces as they went.

The plan slowly formed, the pieces falling into place. And then the Cop showed up.

Barsad had never believed in re-incarnation. Never believed in anything really. The Pit had knocked any beliefs from his soul. But as the young man questioned him, unaware of the dangers Gotham would soon be facing, Barsad believed he could change his mind. He looked over at the Cop with the Point Man's face.

* * *

Ok, and next chapter will be back to the story.


	4. Chapter 4

So a huge apology to everyone who has been following this story. I know I promised a chapter a day for the next few days but I got a little off track. Hopefully this will be an acceptable peace offering. Even if it is sadly short. Next will be longer, I promise. And as hopefully everyone will be pleased to know, I am back on track with this story after last chapter.

* * *

The crash of water was almost deafening as Barsad and his team made their way back into their sewers Base. The photographs, now fully developed, were tucked into the man's jacket pocket as he made his way towards his boss's private room. Like his team, he had stripped of the horrible casual clothes which had helped to hide them among the crowds and was once again back in his normal, functional clothes, his weapons tucked inside the kevlar vests which were wrapped around his body like a safety net.

But at the moment, he didn't care about his weapons, or his clothes, or his training. He cared about something much more important, something which could easily change everything about Gotham.

Handing all but one of the photos over to his team, Barsad ushered them away to their own tasks before stepping quietly into the confined space Bane had appropriate for himself. Softly, the younger man cleared his throat, letting his boss know he was there.

Bane was seated on the bed, watching a small television. From his place at the door, Barsad could make out footage of the Mayor, his annual address for Harvey Dent day finally taking place in front of the ghostly Wayne Manor as the sun set, casting shadows over everything.

"I find it remarkable that a whole city will waste a day worshiping a false idol." Bane said, his eyes not leaving the screen as the words echoed in the silence of the sewer. "Do these people really have so little hope in their lives?"

Barsad shrugged. He had seen the worst of what humanity had to offer. This Harvey Dent Day was just as much a mystery to him.

Turning away from the television, Bane glanced at his friend and leader.

"You are smiling old friend." He noted. "I trust your mission was successful."

Barsad realised he was indeed smiling. Quickly he tried to suppress it, holding out the photo.

"I've got something I think you will want to see." He said.

It was a brave move. Bane didn't like anyone telling him what to do, even his oldest friends but Barsad held his ground at the giant of a man rose to his feet, towering over him. Bane would just have to trust that Barsad would not approach him like this for anything un-important. After a tense few moments, Bane took the photo from his second in commands hand, raised it to the faint light to take a closer look.

Barsad held his breath.

Slowly, Bane lowered the photo, his eyes glued to the image. He didn't make a sound, not even the faint noise of breathing through his mask. Finally, the monster of a man sat down heavily on his bed, the image literally knocking him off his feet.

"Who is he?" He finally asked, putting the picture on the desk. Barsad glanced at the photo he had snapped of the cop.

"According to one of our runners, his name is John Blake. He's a street orphan turned beat cop."

Bane finally turned his face away from the picture.

"Beat cop?" He asked. "How odd."

There were a few more moments of silence.

"The runner who told you all this, I trust he has been dealt with?"

Barsad nodded.

"Someone should pull him out of the water in a few days. That is, if he is lucky." The younger man replied. He had killed the runner, not wishing for the boy to ask questions about Barsad's sudden interest in a simple street cop. If Bane saw that Barsad had seen, then that sort of information could prove to be dangerous in the wrong hands and the boy was a liability.

Bane nodded, once again falling into silence. Barsad shifted on his feet.

"What should we do?" He finally asked, glancing up at his boss, whose attention was once again on the photograph. Bane looked up again, tearing himself away from whatever dark thoughts occupied his mind.

"Continue with the plan of course. Nothing has changed." The giant of a man replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Barsad nodded. Slowly, he turned to leave. He had the blood of a child on his hands and he would love to go and wash it off.

"However…"

The former Extractor turned to face his boss once again. Bane looked up at him.

"Keep an eye on this John Blake. I would dearly like to meet him once Gotham has been shown the error of her ways."

Barsad nodded and silently slipped out of the room, leaving Bane and the photograph behind.

* * *

Next chapter will be up soon. I promise.


	5. Chapter 5

Right, from now on, I am not making any promises with this story. Everytime I do, I break it. So no more. I have a few chapters already written and almost ready to go but with internet being a pain, getting them out at the promised times is not easy. So lets just say that I have the chapters but they might take a few days.

And a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed or even read this story so far. I hope you all like it.

* * *

It was all over, years of planning finally paying off. The rich and powerful had fallen, The Bat was gone and Gotham was in the hands of the people for the first time ever.

There was no rejoicing in the streets. That was still to come. But the atmosphere of the city had changed. The suffocation which the people had lived with for their whole lives was gone as they were free to pursue new lives. The only thing Bane asked was that they didn't leave the city.

Of course, Barsad knew the truth. Gotham was living on borrowed time. Soon the bomb would detonate, taking this miserable excuse of a city with it. But even that would be an act of mercy.

For now the atmosphere was that of joy as the people of Gotham took back their homes.

The Courts were active, punishing the deserving. The spoils of the uprising were being split among the people. Anyone showing any signs of greed or corruption was given a swift dose of Mob justice.

The city was a modern French Revolution. And not in the way Hollywood had painted it, all bright colours and the evil being struck down by the good. No, this was blood and pain and fear. And blood lust. A lot of blood lust.

It was only a matter of time before the people had taken too many heads and then the lust will have set in and the city would turn on itself.

Throughout the whole transition to the peoples rule, John Blake had survived. Barsad had made sure of that, dropping enough hints for the clever young detective to keep him out of the sewers and away from his companions while the city's police were contained. Although many of Gotham's citizens had seen it as their duty to track down and bring any surviving police to justice, Blake had been smart, keeping on the move and not giving anyone a chance to catch him. Admittedly, he had taken the Police Commissioner with him, a serious crime in this new Gotham. But that was a problem which could be easily solved with a single bullet.

And Blake had made one big mistake. Despite hiding out and keeping his head low, there was one place Blake would always return to. His old orphanage.

Barsad had already sent a few of the runners to invade the building, hiding themselves among the orphans and snatching the young man's files from under the nose of the orphanage director. Suddenly, the Shadows had access to everything about the young cop, from his date of birth to his real name. Bane had been pleased by his second in commands work.

Bane himself had taken more and more interest as the plan came to a head, demanding more information and footage of the man and giving less and less attention to the girls plans for Gotham. Barsad had been worried at first about his leaders growing obsession but he had soon seen the benefit. When Bane was happy, mistakes were more easily forgiven and less people had to die.

But Barsad knew that it was only a matter of time before Bane grew tired of the images his men brought him and demanded the real John Blake.

Even now, Banes loyal team of Extractors were working, repairing the PASIV Barsad had kept, mixing the required chemicals and planning the levels required. There was a buzz of excitement surrounding the small team which Barsad had never felt before. But then again, what the team was going to attempt had never been done before. This was far greater then a basic Extraction. Even more complex than the infamous Inception performed many years before.

The team wasn't going to just plant an idea. They were going to plant an entire personality.

Now all they needed was the subject.

Barsad knew it could only be a matter of time before Bane called him in, ordering him to take a team to capture his little bird. And then the mission would really begin.

* * *

It was a lot later then John had hoped as he prepared to leave the refuge of the boy's home. Banes forces had yet to move against them, recognising perhaps, the possible recruiting grounds. But that was no guarantee of safety. If anyone realised a cop had been visiting the building, John had no doubt that Bane's men would rip anyone to pieces in their quest to destroy him. Being children would not be enough to save them. And by the look of it, it had already taken several boys.

Father Reilly had kept a list of the boys who had disappeared after Gotham's occupation, most of them captured and pressganged into Bane's army or killed on sight for imaginary crimes. John just hoped his continued work would help the remaining boys to see there were people out there who were not going to hurt them, who were willing to fight for them and their home.

Mark had taken to keeping at John's side during his visits, the teenage boy possibly seeing John as a big brother now that his own had been murdered. John, despite himself, had found a special place in his heart for the boy.

Still, John needed to leave him behind. A group of Special Forces operatives were going to try and sneak into Gotham tonight and John needed to be there to help the Commissioner if things went wrong. Despite their efforts, the minimal number of men in the Commissioners team made their attempts to find the bomb almost impossible. They desperately needed the extra help.

Heading towards the door, John pocketed the piece of chalk Mark had given him, pulling his coat closer around his body. The snow was still falling, painting the street white and freezing the young detective to his core.

Stepping outside, John pulled the door closed and glanced around. Three men were standing at the end of the street, talking and laughing to each other.

John decided to head in the opposite direction. He knew that it was not safe to approach strangers, especially in these streets, where a single person was an excellent target.

Stepping down the slippery stairs, John ignored the crunch of snow under his feet as he headed into the street. A door opened off to the side, two men stepping out, turning their bodies toward him. They were dressed in body armour, a universal symbol of Banes men. John glanced behind him. The three men were strolling down the street towards him.

Spying a small alleyway, John ducked into the darkness, hoping that it would open up into another street. A brick wall dashed those hopes. He looked around, looking for a door, a fire escape…anything.

"Detective Blake!" A voice called.

Slowly, John turned. Now that he could see them up close, John realised how he had been manipulated. All five men were clearly Banes men, working together to force the detective into a tight spot. John could see the weapons the men help as they grinned at him, knowing that they had trapped him.

Faintly, he wondered if they would bother to drag him before the court for sentencing or if they would avoid all the effort and just shoot him here, not twenty metres from the Boys home he had grown up in.

The leader of the little group, a surprisingly familiar looking bearded man, smiled at him. One of his men raised a gun. John closed his eyes. So it was going to be murder in the streets.

He didn't hear the shot. Nor did it feel like a bullet was digging its way through his body. Instead, there was a sharp pain, like something had stung him on the neck. Opening his eyes, John reached up to the sight of the sting. His fingers touched something cold.

Suddenly he felt exhausted, his eyes starting to close against his will. Trying to shake off the feeling, John took a step forward. His legs threatened to give out under him.

Suddenly, they made good on their threat, John starting to fall forward into the muddy snow. The bearded man rushed forward, grabbing John across the chest and slowing his fall. Automatically, John tried to struggle as the world around him faded into nothing. He was unconscious before Barsad had even lowered him to the ground.

* * *

Another chapter soon. That is all I am going to say.


	6. Chapter 6

And as I said back over at TDKR meme, here comes the Inception part. A big thank you to everyone reading, and extra to those brave people who followed me over from the meme. You are all wonderful.

* * *

John slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the white light as his hands gripped the metal frame of whatever he was lying on. Both his head and throat hurt, twin points of discomfort. Blinking, he tried to look around. Why wasn't he dead? Why hadn't Banes men killed him yet? Did they want something from him? Were they going to torture him for information?

John had never faced the prospect of torture before. He didn't know if he could handle it or if he would break at the first threat. Would he give away the plan? Would he betray everyone?

Shifting slightly, he realised he was not restrained. A rush of adrenalin pumped through his body, forcing the young detective to his feet. There was a sharp tug at John's arm, followed by a loud crash.

John turned, spotting the metal briefcase on the floor. An IV line was hooked up to the centre of the case, the sudden movement dragging the case off a small table and under the lawn chair John's captors must have dumped him on. A dreadful curiosity made John follow the line across the floor to the needle in his forearm.

Reaching up, John grabbed the line and ripped it out of his arm, wincing at the sharp sting of pain. They had drugged him! What the hell had they drugged him with?

Turning around, John looked at his surroundings. He was in some sort of open warehouse. Several desks were scattered across the open space, each one piled high with clutter. Looking towards the closest one, John noticed a series of models and large pieces of paper. Someone had put a lot of effort into creating a scale model of what looked like a house, each smaller model a room for the final piece.

The desk opposite it was far more frightening, covered in glass bottles and several discarded syringes. This had to be where whatever was flowing through his veins had come from. John felt a strong urge to vomit at the thought of it. Quickly, he looked away from the mad scientists playground.

A white board was stationed in the middle of the room surrounded by chairs. Paper and pictures were stuck to the edges, writing taking up the rest of the space. John desperately wanted to do to the board, to read everything but at the same time he didn't. If these were the plans to torture him, he really didn't want to know.

Reaching up to his face, John rubbed his hands across his sweaty forehead, trying to make himself to calm down. It was ok. He may have been drugged, but he didn't seem to be feeling it. There were no guards and the room he was in was open and didn't look like an underground prison or any sort of torture chamber. There didn't seem to be any dangerous equipment around. No alarms were going off, no armed men racing into the room. Unless their plan was to confuse him to death, it looked like he was, at least for now, safe.

He lowered his hands. Something caught his eye.

They had dressed him! Someone had changed his clothes!

Looking down, John pulled at the dark brown woollen jumper he was wearing. It was perfectly fitted and seemed very clean and expensive, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Underneath, someone had put him in a striped white shirt. He was even wearing a maroon tie. A pair of black pants and expensive polished black shoes completed the picture, all of them perfectly fitted.

A soft click made John look up. An older man was pushing a door closed, a take away coffee cup held in his free hand. He looked up, smiling when he noticed John.

"Ah, Arthur! I just popped out for a quick coffee. I didn't think you would be finished your trial run so soon." He smiled at John. It was a friendly smile yet the detective didn't trust it.

Taking a step back, John tried to put a bit of distance between himself and the man. The man didn't seem to notice, walking around to the mad scientist's desk and putting the coffee down on the hard wood. He looked up at John, a single eyebrow raised.

"Arthur? Are you alright?" He asked.

John finally found his voice.

"Who are you?" He asked.

The man looked at him. Finally, he broke into a small smile.

"That's every clever Arthur. I was told Eames had given you a sense of humour but I have to admit, I didn't believe it." The man said.

He smiled as if waiting for John to respond. John just stared, a million thoughts racing through his head. Finally, the man's smile froze and then dissapeared.

"You're serious?" He asked. "You don't know who I am?"

John didn't have time to react as the man threw himself over the desk and invaded his personal space, grabbing the younger man's head in his hands and staring into his eyes.

"Dilated pupils." The man muttered. One hand was lowered to rest against John's neck. "Racing pulse." His other hand was combing over John's head. John couldn't stop the wince of pain as the man pressed down on a painful spot.

Finally, the man backed away, shaking his head.

"Dammit! When Mike said he accidently dropped the PASIV on you this morning, I didn't think he had given you a concussion."

John blinked, a little stunned as the man almost ran to his desk, shifting papers back and forth.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" The man muttered softly. "I knew I shouldn't have let you volunteer in your condition! I knew I should have doped up Mike instead!" He continued to mutter.

John had no idea what the hell the man was talking about. Suddenly the man grabbed something off the desk and threw it at him. The young detective only just managed to catch the item before it hit him on the head. He looked down. It was an icepack.

"Put it against your head and sit down. I'll get you a drink of water."

Not sure what else to do, John followed the man's instructions, still slightly wary of the man's motivations as he pulled up one of the lawn chairs.

A glass of water was pressed into his free hand.

"Drink up." The man commanded, seating himself beside John.

Silently, John obeyed the order.

"So how much do you remember Arthur?" The man asked. "Do you remember the team?

John just blinked, lowering the glass.

"Do you remember Eames?" The man continued.

There was more silence.

"Yourself? Do you remember who you are Arthur?"

John finally found his voice.

"My names John, not Arthur." He said.

The man stared at him for a moment before looking away.

"Oh hell! Mixing trial compounds with a head concussion never ends well. I had better tell the team."

There was a click as the door opened again, this time admitting three men. John automatically tried to rise, to put distance between himself and the newcomers. The older man placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Relax. I'll tell the team what is going on. We will look after you." The older man said. Quickly, he rose to his feet, walking towards the three men.

John remained tense. He didn't know where he was or who these people were. He didn't know who Arthur was or why the man kept calling him that. He didn't know anything. Realising he could never get past these men, the detective fought down his instincts to run and accepted the truth. He was trapped.


	7. Chapter 7

Another chapter ready and waiting. Thank you to everyone for giving this story a chance, and an extra big thank you to those people who followed me here from the meme. I should never have been worried about coming clean with the response you have all given me. Anyway, it is time for the moment several people have been waiting for. Bane's first meeting with John. Or should I say, Eames meeting with Arthur?

* * *

Forging was a breath of fresh air for Bane. The feel of the dream scape and the familiar habit of slipping into another's skin was refreshing after being trapped in his own body for so long. Once again being in control of everything was a joy compared to being trapped in reality. And yet, it was bittersweet, the memories taking some of the joy from the experience. This may have been the first dream he had willingly entered in years, but it also severed as a reminder, a reminder of the person who was no longer by his side.

Still, Bane found himself enjoying the feel as his new form shifted and twisted around him, settling into the correct image.

The Eames personality was the most difficult Bane had ever attempted. Not because it was unknown, but because it was so familiar. This was the skin he had lived in for so long, the face he had worn for so many years. Yet this was not him. This man, Eames, had died in the warehouse that day, holding onto his dying partner until the end. He wasn't the man who had awoken in Hospital with terrible burns and his whole world in ashes around him. He wasn't the man who had attended the funeral, crying by himself as the coffin was lowered into the ground of the empty cemetary. He wasn't the man who had felt the bitterness seep into his veins, turning to poison as it reached his heart and turned his mind to anger and revenge.

No. The Forger and thief known as Eames was dead long before Bane had risen.

And yet, there was a definite difference between reality and the dream. Bane couldn't pinpoint the feeling but something inside him had changed. It had been changing since the moment he had looked at Barsad's photograph. It was still changing now, as he looked around the warehouse which he himself had chosen for this dream.

It was an exact replica of the warehouse in Paris which Arthur and Eames had sent so much time in during the Fischer job, trading sneaky comments and working towards a job they had different degrees of belief in. Every detail down to the placement of the desks was straight from Banes memories, creating a comfortable environment for everyone.

Well, a comfortable environment for everyone except John. The young detective was looking around wildly. Like an animal caught in the headlights of an approaching car, John seemed frozen in place, no idea what to do next as he watched the team.

In the years they had been together, Bane had never seen Arthur confused or scared. He had even tricked himself into believing that the point man didn't know how to show those emotions. But now, seeing John like this, dressed in the style of clothes Arthur had always favoured and in an environment Arthur had made his own, Bane realised he could now guess what that would look like.

In a way, it was heartbreaking.

If it wasn't what the team needed, Bane would immediately call off the job, just to try and wipe that look off their subjects face. But they needed John to be scared. They needed the young man to believe that everything he knew to be true was false. They needed to get John off balance, leaving him with nothing but his teammates to cling to. They needed him to trust them. Only then could Bane proceed to the next level. To start planting the false memories which would bring Arthur back.

Yes, the part inside the man that was John Blake would have to disappear. But it was no great loss. The little bird was a solider in a losing war, a cop with no authority in a city tearing itself apart. The detective was blind to the streets around him, clinging to a lost idol. It was a mercy erasing Blake before he was forced to witness Gotham crumble.

Yes. A mercy.

Christian, a former Extractor and makeshift medic who had joined Banes team during the Saito job, stepped closer. He had been the first into the dream after Blake, playing the part of the team's Chemist and planting the seeds of the idea in Blake's head. It was not an easy job but one Bane had been confident Christian could handle. A confidence which he already knew would pay off.

Bane looked at the older man. He wasn't as physically intimidating in this form but the older man still ducked his head, his body language showing his respect for the other man. A respect which would have been odd if the rest of the team didn't know the truth about the smiling British man before them.

"I have started to plant the beginnings of the idea." Christian said, dropping his voice so John wouldn't be able to hear them. "He doesn't understand half of what I said but with a little bit of reinforcement, we should be able to gain his trust enough for him to start believing Gotham is just a dream."

"Very good Mr Christian." Bane replied. He tried not to flinch at his voice, higher then he remembered without the restrictions of the mask but still very much his own. "Then it is time for me to have a talk with the little bird."

Swiftly, he glanced at his two companions. Barsad was at his right side, standing in the defensive position. His other companion, the already named scapegoat of the team, Mike was bringing up the rear. The two men nodded, understanding their bosses command, even if it was from a different face, and stepped away from the group, heading towards their assigned desks.

Barsad moved a few models off the Architect's desk which had once been Ariadne's while Mike claimed the Extractor's seat, where Cobb had once sat. Christian followed the other two men's lead, heading over to the Yusuf's old desk and picking up a takeaway coffee.

Bane turned to look at John who was trying to angle his body so he could see any threats from the men moving around the building. Walking slowly over to the skittish man, Bane smiled softly as the man turned.

John immediately tried to back away, dropping and ice pack and knocking over a glass of water and he shifted to the far corner of the deck chair. Bane kept his movements slow, trying not to frighten the younger man anymore then needed as he seated his newly minimised bulk onto the edge of John's chair.

"Well Darling, Christian certainly had an interesting little tale to tell." He said, his smile widening.


	8. Chapter 8

Argh! Sorry for the long wait. Writers block is killing me at the moment and I didn't want to post this until I have at least one more chapter ready. But since I can't do that, I decided to post and hope that I can pick everything up again soon.

* * *

The next ten minutes were painful for Bane, sitting so close to the man wearing Arthurs face and yet, unable to reach out and hold him. John had been silent as Bane had begun making small talk, watching the British man with wide, weary eyes.

Bane had used the time to his advantage, taking up the position of a concerned partner, gently asking John if he remembered certain things from Arthur's life. It was a simple ruse, one which Bane had used several times in his extraction days, planting false memories by simply talking about them. It was amazing what a calm, confident voice and a kind smile could do for a skittish subject.

From his place at the edge of the chair, Bane could see John start to relax, his shoulders dropping slowly as he started to understand that no one was going to attack him. But still, the frightened look didn't leave his eyes.

Slowly, Bane started to think of what would happen once Arthur was restored. Gotham didn't have long to live and once the city was in ruins, Talia would no longer require her protector. She would allow him to leave, to go off and do whatever he pleased while she took back her place as the head of the League of Shadows. Bane had already planned to take Arthur and go overseas, maybe even back to Mombasa. Somewhere where they could live safely away from the people who would see Arthur as a target, or Bane as a threat. Somewhere away from anything which might trigger any memories Arthur could retain from his time as John. Away from the memories of the Batman and how he had tried to turn Banes little bird into his protégé.

Yes, Bane had been aware of what Bruce Wayne had been doing, the former billionaire trying to groom John into becoming his successor, a loyal soldier to his cause.

A shrill squeal made both men look away, halting Banes continuous stream of calming words. Barsad was moving chairs into a circle surrounding the white board. Bane didn't even have to look to feel John tense up again. The former Forger turned around, smiling.

"Well Arthur, it looks like the team meeting is about to start. We had better get over there."

Standing up, Bane stalked over to the circle, grabbing a chair. He was careful to pick the second from the end, leaving the last chair open for John so the young man didn't have to feel intimidated sitting next to any of the teams other members. Both Mike and Christian understood the silent order, taking their seats and leaving Barsad to stand by the board, the chosen leader of the conversation. Bane glanced back at the sleeping area and the missing member of the team.

John hadn't moved, watching Bane carefully. The look of fear had eased back. Instead, John gave everyone a calculated look, almost like he was summing up the situation. It was such an Arthur look, Bane found himself fighting the urge to jump to his feet and tackle John, planting a kiss on the other man now that his mask was gone.

Gracefully, John rose from the seat and stepped closer, clearly deciding to trust the team for the moment. Bane sent him a small smile which John didn't return as he sank into the free chair. Reaching over, Bane tried to grab Johns hand and give it a quick squeeze but John pulled away before the other man could get a firm grip.

Barsad cleared his throat.

"Now, I know we went through the plan yesterday, but with the incident this morning, I thought it would be a good idea to go over it once more before everyone heads home for the night." Barsad said, trying not to look at anyone.

They hadn't really gone over the plan before. Hell, it wasn't even a real job. Their subject was a projection, created simply to get John comfortable with dream sharing before they started taking him down to lower levels. Holding up a photograph, Barsad showed it to the team.

"Josephine Le Blanc, aged 25. Recently, she was involved in a motorcycle accident which left her body crushed. Many of her injuries are beyond the doctors abilities to heal. She will never walk again, she will never talk again, and she will be in pain for the rest of her life."

At this, Barsad couldn't help but shoot a glance at his boss. Bane had chosen the first job, wanting something legal so as to minimise the shock to John but still, it was possible his own experiences could cause problems. Bane met his eyes, almost challenging him to stop. Barsad took another breath before continuing.

"She is currently in the hospital in a medically induced coma but she has never written a will. Her parents have hired us to find out what her wishes are. Does she want to spend the rest of her life in pain or does she wish to end it all now."

Beside Bane, John gave a little gasp of horror.

"You are going to kill this woman?" He asked, looking around at the team.

"No Darling." Bane replied, this time managing to capture John's hand before the young man got in into his head to try and bolt for the door. "We are going to find out what she wants. And if she wants to end it all, we will give her the best day of her life before she goes."

John opened his mouth as if to protest but he honestly didn't know how to respond. How do you respond when you have no idea what is happening around you?

"But…but…she's in a coma. How are we supposed to talk to her?"

Barsad and Mike shared a look while Christian shook his head. All of them were in perfect character as Bane turned in his chair.

"You mean you don't remember dream sharing?" He asked. "Oh Darling, haven't you got a fun surprise ahead of you."

John blinked as Barsad once again began to speak.

"Fortunately, it's an easy job. Only one level will be required. Thanks to Arthurs work with the family, we were able to get access to her old photographs and I have made a design for the level to look like Josephine's childhood home. Eames will forge her father and bring up the question. Mike as the Extractor, will go in as a lawyer to explain everything and write up the will. Once she has made her decision, Eames and Mike will kick themselves out of the dream and give the information to her parents, who will be waiting in the hospital. They will make the final call. Given the incident this morning, Christian will monitor the dreamers while Arthur and I will stand guard and distract the doctors. Does everyone understand their jobs?"

There were several nods from the team, but John still looked confused.

"No." He said.

Bane increased his grip on John's hand.

"Don't worry Arthur. I promise I'll explain everything."

John turned to look at Bane before looking down at their linked hands. Slowly, he nodded, the beginnings of trust showing in his eyes.

* * *

So I promise I will add more. I promise. But it might take a little while.


End file.
